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5
KAYLA
Something was wrong with Monty.
He’d had a nightmare.
I didn’t know what it was about, but I heard him muttering and then give what sounded like a cry of despair. I recognized some of the words he said—it sounded like military jargon. Of course, I remembered, on the night when we first met, he mentioned that he had been in the military. My father had also been in the military—the thugs who worked for him were, too—so I knew a bit about it. My mother had told me that my father suffered from PTSD upon discharge from the military, and it changed him fundamentally as a person.
I wondered if that was what was happening to Monty now.
At first, I hesitated before going after him. In fact, it wasn’t until I heard the hacking sounds that I went to the bathroom door and knocked. The pained noises emanating from the bathroom had my heart twisting in sympathy. There was no answer, so I jiggled the handle, but to no avail. He had locked the door.
“Monty?” I knocked on the door again, pressing my ears against it. I could hear muffled retching at the other side of it and more pained sounds that broke my heart. “Monty, are you okay?”
It was such a stupid question to ask, but I had no idea how else to phrase it. I was still semi-groggy from sleep. I didn’t know when I dozed off, but I must have been more exhausted than I thought because one minute, I was just lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, and the next, I was waking up to complete darkness outside. After a brief moment of panic, I remembered where I was and quickly reoriented myself. That was when I heard the pained sounds Monty was making.
Initially, I didn’t know what it was and had leaned over the side of the bed to check on him. The moonlight had fallen over his face, showing his features twisted in torture. His hand twitched and then clenched. I reached over instinctively to calm him before I stopped myself in motion.What was I doing?
That had been when he woke up and went to the bathroom. I mean, I was half sure the man was some kind of killer for hire, but something about hearing him retch like that clutched at my heart, and I would have given anything for it to stop.
Then suddenly, there was silence.
“Come on, Monty, open the door,” I said, jiggling the door handle again.
“Go back to sleep,” came a sound from the other side.
“Let me help you,” I said, even though I wasn’t exactly sure how I would do that. I mean, what exactly did one do for someone who was throwing up from a nightmare or possibly suffering the effects of PTSD?
“I’m fine,” he said in a much calmer voice. “Just give me a minute to freshen up.”
I heard the tap come on, and the water ran for several seconds while I waited anxiously on the other side of the door. In about a minute or two, the door was pulled open, and he stood there with his usual unflappable expression. His hair was wet at the tips, and he smelled of mint. Like he had just brushed his teeth.
“We should head out,” he said, eyeing the darkness outside. “It’s getting pretty late, and you need to get back tonight, right?”
I nodded vaguely.
“Vinny mentioned that the whole gang is getting together for some sort of party or something, so we could just crash that, I think.” He moved around, grabbed his backpack from the side table, and turned to me. “Ready?”
I nodded again, wanting to say more but hesitating. I wanted to ask about it but could not find a way to phrase my words. I wasn’t even sure I had a right to and didn’t know why he would want to talk to me about his problems. I hadn’t exactly made myself friendly to him, and for a good reason. So I let it go, following him quietly as we checked out at the front desk and then got in the truck to continue our journey.
The long drive to Gracetown was awkward. I kept sending Monty sidelong glances, but he didn’t say anything except shoot me a smile once in a while. It was not a real one but more the kind you gave someone when you were trying to pretend everything was alright. And everything was definitely not all right. It hadn’t been ever since he had woken up with a start and stumbled into the bathroom.
I asked him if he was okay once, and he answered that he was fine in a tone that said he wasn’t, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps I should have respected that he didn’t want to talk to me. It wasn’t like it was any of my business anyway.
He’s not a good guy, Kayla, I kept reminding myself.There is no reason for you to be feeling this way.
But even after discovering who he really was, it was difficult for me to see him that way. The image I’d had of him at the bar kept messing with the reality of who he actually was. When he had walked into that bar, smiling like there wasn’t a damn thing wrong in his world, I had seen a charming man with a gentility about him that put you at ease even as he used his corny pick-up lines to charm your panties off. And there was something even more arresting in his effect, a hint of vulnerability and brokenness that intrigued me. It seemed strange to think of this big, vibrant man as broken, but the more he spoke, the more I saw it. He was just very good at hiding it, but it took one to recognize another.
It was probably why I couldn’t let go of what had happened at the hotel, even though, for all I knew, it could have just been a ploy to get my guard down.
Nah, that wasn’t a ploy. It had been too visceral, too real, to have been planned.
About an hour into the drive, he pulled off the highway, and the scenery changed from grass and forest to industrial buildings. Slowly, it bled into little French cottages, modern condominiums, and a sign that announced: “Welcome to Gracetown.” It was definitely a charming little town with a bunch of historical buildings I was sure tourists loved. Monty merely gave a nod of approval as he drove, following the guidance of the Google Maps app.
Finally, he pulled in front of a tall, elegant-looking modern condo.
“They should be here, according to Vin,” he mumbled as he opened the car door. “Apparently, everyone is meeting at Saint’s house.”
